The Babysitter

Hunger

The sole reason Harry Potter decided to get a job over summer break was hunger. Even as an eighteen-year-old, the Dursleys still treated Harry like shit. And, while Dudley went off to camp, Harry found even more reason to avoid verbal and physical abuse and leave the house.
When Vernon and Petunia weren't harassing him, Harry would sneak into Dudley's room and use his computer. He searched up easy night-long jobs. A way to earn money and get out of the house all day and night. A win-win situation, and Harry would give anything for the opportunity.
One night, he came across a good deal.
In need of a babysitter!!
£10 an hour to take care of Penelope and Chloe. Would greatly appreciate two individuals for this job--trust us, you'll need help. IMPORTANT!! If you are uncomfortable sleeping in strange houses this offer is not for you! Please contact at rosemary346@gmail.com for more information.

This was perfect. Harry quickly went to work on making a good impression. He sent, what he felt was, quite a persuasive email. Anything to escape the stress and tension of the Dursley household. Even take care of a baby.
"Harry!" Vernon shouted from downstairs.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon, I'm coming!" Harry called back.
"Harry!!" Vernon repeated, ignoring Harry's answer.
Harry quickly logged off Dudley's computer and ran down the stairs.
"Clear the table, will you," Vernon grunted.
Harry begrudgingly did as he was told, not wanting to cause an uproar. Not when he was in a bit of a good mood for once. Apparently too good for Vernon.
"What's got you so smiley, eh?" He gave what Harry presumed was a smirk formed in the fat red tomato that vaguely resembled a face. "Get yourself a boyfriend?" He laughed at this, but it was more of a wheeze that was forced out of his swollen throat.
"No," Harry responded calmly. He regretted coming out more and more with every joke they spat at him. "But I got a job."
"Joined the Girl Scouts, have you?" Vernon looked around for approbation of his teasing but Petunia had retired to the living room. Harry simply said, "No," and started to wash Uncle Vernon's dish.
"Well what job then?" Vernon demanded, waddling out of his seat. Harry shrugged, not wanting to be made fun of. "Well?!" He shouted.
"Babysitting," Harry murmured. Vernon's face looked like it was about to explode.
"What did you say? I can't hear you, you bumbling idiot!" Harry flinched.
"I'm going to take care of a baby," Harry said slowly. There was an agonising minute of silence before Vernon burst into obnoxious laughter.
"What a sodding pouf! You're babysitting?! BAHAHAHA!" Harry thought Vernon would have a stroke. He also sort of wanted Vernon to have a stroke.
He walked away before he could start using magic on the fat, old pumpkin.
   Harry began writing a letter to Hermione. Then to Ron. He folded up both papers and proceeded to lock them into his desk, where about fifty other papers similar to those were stored. Harry hadn't received a single message from his friends, and he was afraid to send one. He just didn't feel wanted by his best friends. And he'd hate to bother them.
   So he turned off his lamp, ignoring the clock (it was only 7:03 p.m. precisely), and went to sleep.
    Harry had dreams like any other night. Nightmares of the war. Unconscious, Harry would revisit good memories he'd shared with Remus and Sirius. He saw his parents and even Cedric had dropped by a few times. Some nights were good, while others were torture.
   That night was complete torment. He watched helplessly as his friends writhed around under the Cruciatus Curse. Then he felt it himself. It just seemed so real and Harry was so scared. He awoke breathless and sweating.
   Harry crept down the stairs and into the kitchen as quietly as he could manage. It wasn't very hard, as the Dursleys were very proud people who would refuse to live in a house where a single squeak could be heard in the floorboards.
Harry liked to just sit in the dark room for a while after having a nightmare. It was easy to calm down when the only sound was the soft ploop of the kitchen sink as the water drops hit a tea cup. Aunt Petunia had been too lazy to fully turn off the valve.
   As Harry's heart rate slowed, he watched the flashing green numbers over the stove, briefly showing the time before disappearing and leaving a faint green behind his eyelids which were gradually becoming heavier.
   After a bit of contemplation, Harry decided it would be best to head back up to his room. He dragged his feet up the stairs and quietly shut his door.
He couldn't sleep. The pillow he was using was so completely flat and it made Harry's neck hurt. He unstuck his cheek from the fabric and sat up, feeling sweaty and grimy. He tiptoed to the window and opened it, feeling the cool breeze against his hot face.
Staring out at the dark street, Harry's eyelids finally started to feel heavy. He sighed, climbing back to bed warily. Limbs spread across the mattress, Harry closed his eyes and listened contently to the silence outside, ignoring Vernon's snoring.

*~*

Harry:
            I would be delighted to have you take care of my daughters! You seem very kind and careful. I can't wait to meet you on Thursday.
           Sincerely,
            ~Rosemary Pickett

When Harry received this email the next day, he was so happy he didn't even dare go downstairs after taking care of breakfast. Instead he packed a bag. It contained two outfits, and a quill and paper (you never know when you might need to write something down). He folded his worn pyjamas and placed them on top.
He planned not to take Vernon's company car, but the car reserved for Dudley, who hadn't even ridden in it yet.
When Harry wasn't quickly getting a chore over with, he was sat writing letters to Ron and Hermione. He could never stress enough how much he missed them. He wanted to know anything and everything that was happening to them. Of course, he never actually sent anything. As he looked over previously written letters, he realised how truly sad it was without his friends. They didn't know about Uncle Vernon's abuse. They didn't know how depressingly lonely he was when they weren't around. They wouldn't ever know, no one would, he supposed.